


Dear Impunity

by saisei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bad Advice, Clothed Sex, Drabble Sequence, Evil, Evil Advice, Evil Drabbles, Evil Plans, M/M, None of the Drabbles Are 100 Words, Pre-Canon, Relationship Advice, Semi-Public Sex, well partially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 21:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Crowley chats with Ligur and Hastur about his Dear Impunity advice column.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).

"But is it actually evil?" Hastur asks.

Crowley wishes briefly for eyes that can roll expressively. "Of _course_ it is. Can you read this?" Hastur's forehead wrinkles, and Crowley sweeps on before be can realize he's been insulted. "Dear Impunity, Blah blah old friend they haven't seen in ages, used to have a pornstache, met for drinks and turns out now they're gorgeous, what to do."

He looks at Hastur as if eager to hear what he has to say, and gets a sullen shrug. "Dunno."

"So I tell them to fuck," Crowley says with an unholy smug grin. "Because chemistry, right? If it feels good, do it. Grab that chance with both hands. Consequences be damned."

*

"Sounds like romantic crap," Hastur pronounces with judgmental disappointment.

"Look," Crowley says. "I'm telling them to surrender to lust. And adultery." Hastur brightens up a bit at that, and Crowley nudges him with his elbow. "Sending that message to millions of readers online."

A layer of suspicion drains from Hastur's expression. "Ensnare them," he says, quite slowly, as if the thought's taking the scenic route through the vast emptiness of his skull, "in the worldwide web of evil."

"Precisely." Crowley accepts that small victory and moves on. "Now, tell me more about your naughty schoolteacher."

* * *

"Hey," Crowley says, dragging the word out as if he's pleased to be seeing Hastur and Ligur. "How's it going?"

"Can't complain," Ligur says, nearly normal, but then he adds, "get tossed into the pit of despair and torment for all eternity if I did. Ha-ha."

Crowley amps up the insincerity in his smile. It's taken thousands of years to get Ligur to be this jolly.

There was something he'd been meaning to report on – ah. He raises his eyebrows at Hastur. "I heard back from the lusty letter writer."

Hastur has a soft spot for lust; his eyes gleam like an oil spill. "Were there orgies?"

*

"I'm sure there will be. With just a bit more temptation. See, they think they can't make a move because their hot friend's a business rival. But I think – " he looks at Ligur "– this could be the scandal of the year, if it gets leaked. Careless passion, breach of trust, stock prices tumbling, people losing everything. A wave of desperate greed on the one hand, hedonism and orgies on the other."

Ligur tips his head; he's working hard to get skepticism elevated to a capital vice. "You up to it?"

"Watch me," Crowley says, and smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale acts with impunity.

"So why the summons?" Crowley asks, sliding into the bookshop and extruding an unsettling aura to make all the customers suddenly want to be somewhere else entirely.

It occurred to me," Aziraphale says, turning to Crowley with his feather duster in hand (none of the books were allowed to get dusty, of course, but he had appearances to keep up), "that occasionally when one wants something, one must, well. Seize the day. Take action." He beckons with a finger. "I could use your assistance, over here, in the corner."

"Oh, by all means," Crowley says, but his heart's not really in his snark; he's too curious. It's his greatest weakness besides, well, the other weakness. 

*  
  
He hooks his thumbs in his front pockets and ambles over. Aziraphale skims his eyes over him, head to toe, and then steps in, pushing Crowley back against the self-help shelves.

"We should kiss," Aziraphale announces, and Crowley's busy not understanding that when a soft human mouth is pressed up against his own. He's quite familiar with the mechanics – has to be, of course, in order to properly lead into temptation. But he _knows_ Aziraphale, they're associates, and there's nothing in their arrangement that suggests a possibility of kissing with both Aziraphale's hands cupping his arse.

*

"It was the oddest thing," Aziraphale says. "You grew out the mullet and I saw you and – well. I _saw_ you, and after that, I wanted."

"Wanted what?" Crowley's own hands are curled purposelessly around Aziraphale's elbows.

"To feel what the humans feel."

Crowley clicks his tongue, in warning. "Shouldn't. Dangerous."

"It'd be nice," Aziraphale says plaintively, and his eyes are round enough to get lost in, like alien worlds. "I hadn't thought it possible, but then – you do write that column for the newspaper, don't you?"

"Maybe," Crowley admits, and he's lost.

*

Falling had been like this, a dizzying confusion of bad to worse that somehow felt like good to better. Aziraphale slides down to his knees, opens Crowley's trousers, and like a perverse supplicant takes the sacrament of him into his mouth. Crowley should have known, with how much enjoyment Aziraphale finds in food, that his mouth would give just as much pleasure. He stuffs a fist in his mouth and stares out the window at the passing crowd, then down at Aziraphale's curls, then up again.

He finishes quickly, considering what a long time this has been coming, and blinks away all the stupid _feelings_ that bubble up, nice and happy and sweet and good. Eugh.

He reciprocates quickly and gives Aziraphale a kiss before he leaves, to keep him from talking. As he walks out he thinks, no, he hadn't been prepared for that _at all_.


End file.
